


Scars Run Deeper Than Words

by KingdomFlameVIII



Category: Compilation of Final Fantasy VII
Genre: Angst, Hallucinations, Hurt/Comfort, Kissing, M/M, Planet Scar Syndrome | Geostigma, post meteorfall, probably mild smut, request, strifentine - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-07-04
Updated: 2015-07-04
Packaged: 2018-04-07 14:41:32
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,911
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4267167
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KingdomFlameVIII/pseuds/KingdomFlameVIII
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Cloud's not the best at words. Vincent's not the best at feelings. Dealing with a detached, emotionally stunted little shit could be a royal pain in the ass. But it's sure as hell better than being alone. </p><p>And it was so, that tumblr user xliaxtasadako said unto me, "Go forth, child, and write me a Strifentine fic. You may choose between two prompts."</p><p>To which I now reply, "Fuck off, you're getting both."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Scars Run Deeper Than Words

The first time Vincent and Cloud run into each other in the forgotten city, it's a complete accident. There's no thinking or planning involved. Cloud needs an out and he takes it.

He doesn't know exactly what he's running from. Life in the city is something he'd chosen for himself, many years ago. Was he happy? Perhaps not. He liked to think of himself as content. He owed it to Marlene and Denzel. But the stagnation... could be crippling. Barret liked to joke that Cloud was a man of war, only happy in times of action. Tifa argues otherwise. Cloud thinks... well... usually Cloud says nothing.

It’s just after the last traces of light have disappeared from the sky, that Cloud sneaks out during the night. This time, he leaves a note on the table, scribbled with shaking hands. This isn't the first time he's been affected by a memory-driven panic attack. But it's the first time he'd rather not stay with the kids until he pulls out of it.

Would it be reckless and dangerous for him to drive the bike in this condition? Absolutely. Would he even have considered leaving if it weren't? Probably not. The cool wind in his face brings stinging tears to his eyes, the rush of the autumn's air over his skin raises each little hair on his arms. It feels like freedom.

He doesn't mean to drive all the way into the forest of the Ancients. He doesn't mean to board the 1 a.m. cargo ferry. He'd meant to be home by morning. It doesnt matter. By the time he can see the fallen, white leaves of the forest, the horizon is already beginning to show the early signs of light.

Cloud doesn't take his bike into the city. It just... doesn't feel right to. It never has. It feels like he's disturbing holy ground. Were it not about twenty degrees colder here than the consistent, dirty warmth of Edge, Cloud might have walked barefoot.

"You startled me."

The low, gravelly voice shatters the heavy silence, echoing eerily through the great bone webs. It's not loud, but it's enough to send Cloud nearly stumbling onto his ass. He recognizes it nearly immediately, though in the darkness it takes him a moment to discover the source.

Perched atop a spindly white structure, his coat billowing silently in the windy chill of the early morning, is Vincent Valentine. What he'd been doing up there, Cloud couldn't say. Probably staring at the moon and contemplating his own existence like the dramatic son of a bitch he was.

"Did I?" Cloud retorts sharply. "You would have fooled me."

Vincent chooses to ignore that. "What are you seeking?" he says, peering down at Cloud with focused, questioning eyes.

The moonlight dims everything down to tones of purples, blues, and greys. Vincent is no different. Even the red of his eyes fail to pierce through the darkness. He suddenly looks very human, and Cloud wonders why he’d considered him in any other way.

Cloud tilts his head in a disinterested, non-committal sort of gesture. "Who says I'm seeking anything?"

At this Vincent pushes himself off of his perch, dropping gracefully to the ground with barely a rustle.

"You have a family in Edge," he says. _And it's nearly dawn, and Edge is on an entirely different continent, and six hours away. Which means you left around midnight, perhaps later if you drove in the reckless way I'd expect you to. You've come all this way. So I'll ask again,_ he doesn't say. "So what do you seek here?"

Cloud sees the skepticism on his stony face. He's seen it a hundred times. Tiny, imperceptible quirks of the eyebrow, a certain focus of the eyes. Vincent isn't nearly as hard to read as he thinks he is. Or maybe... maybe Cloud just pays attention.

Cloud exhales; a small puff of steam escapes from him and rises up into the night. "Don't know," he says, finally. "Kindred spirit, maybe?"

And that's all he needs to say. Vincent's eyes flick downwards, and then back up at Cloud again. _I see._

Many a time Vincent has wandered into the crystal caves upstream, the dull echo of Lucrecia's presence the only thing standing between he and his demons. Cloud's... may not be so literal as his own, but tantalizing nonetheless.

Eventually Cloud wanders off the path, sits himself against a winding tree. Vincent does the same. Silently they watch the break of dawn, each considering his own inner turmoil and hoping, maybe, tomorrow night would be a little easier.

"What about you?" Cloud says, as they get up to leave. "Why have you come here?"

Vincent looks down, his head shaking silently. "I can't say exactly. Something about the moonlight... can quell the beast."

_Knew it._

"I find myself here during many full moons," he says carefully.

 _Got it._ "Right. Until next time."

~o~

"What do you mean 'going?' For how long? You can't just up and abandon your family like this and expect me to just let you walk out without a word!"

Cloud hears, but he doesn't listen. His mind is already made up. The stigma... he had to leave before it got any worse. But if Tifa knew, she'd never let him go. This way, at least, she could blame him, and not herself.

"Hey, Cloud, you listening to me? What about Denzel and Marlene, huh? How do we keep them in school? The bar? We _need_ you here!"

"You don't," Cloud says. "Barett is here. He's going to bring me the delivery bike. You'll get all the gil from that."

Tifa slams her fist down on the dining room table. "It's not about the gil! It's about _you_ being part of this family!"

Cloud knows how this conversation goes: the guilt trip starts and it doesn't stop until he apologizes and slinks back into his bedroom. The dull tingling on his arm reminds him of why he can't do that. Not today.

So he picks up his trunk. "Sorry, I can't."

He leaves with Tifa's begging voice shouting after him.

~o~

Cloud reaches the Forgotten City just before midnight. The moon is full.

"Tifa called," Vincent remarks. He's atop a different structure, this time. Over the water. "She's looking for an explanation."

Cloud sits by the edge of the pool, removing his shoes. He fancies that maybe these waters can wash away the filth, cleanse the rot and leave behind new skin. "She wouldn't understand," he says. "The reason I have to go... she'd say it's the reason I have to stay."

Vincent says nothing, but dismounts and joins him by the water. He can sense already that something is wrong. There's something different, something extra about Cloud since they'd last spoken.

"Vincent..." he says with uncertainty, “How do you do it? How do you deal with having evil within you?"

The gunslinger remained silent for several minutes. "I accept that my degree of control is limited."

"What's happened, Cloud?"

He hadn't meant to tell Vincent. He hadn't meant to tell anyone. It was a punishment he had to bear on his own. But, Vincent knew a thing about punishment.

So he shakes away his sleeve, exposing the hemorrhaging skin underneath. It's not too bad. Yet. Just his forearm for now. The broken skin has a slimy, brown film of blood clotting in places, and in newer spots, the textbook greenish black sludge oozes out.

"You have geostigma," Vincent says simply. Not judgemental, not sympathetic. Just a statement, confirming what they both already know. Cloud had been afflicted with the plague of the planet.

"Do you know anything about it?" Cloud whispers. Vincent responds with a small shake of the head.

"I'll look into it."

For several minutes, Cloud is silently contemplative. He wonders which of his sins left him with such an affliction. Then, almost as if on queue, he sees it. _Her._

She always looks the same. Pink dress, dirty at the hem from gardening. Warm brown hair in a neat plait, tied together with a bow. She's never looked angry, not once. She just watches him, sadly, almost wistfully.

As soon as Cloud notices her presence, his muscles instantly seize up. His breathing quickens, sweat begins to pool at his temples. The tendons in his muscles and back are so tight he begins to shake.

Vincent, unclear on whether these were physical or mental symptoms, peers sideways at Cloud, the question visible in his expression.

Cloud can't stand it, can't take seeing her look at him--like that. Like _he's_ the one that should be pitied. He closes his eyes so tightly that little lights pop up beneath his vision; he threads his fingers through his hair, willing the visions to just _fuck off._

"I see-- her. I hear her voice in my head, all the time."

"What does she say?"

Cloud's expression is so far gone, Vincent is frankly impressed that he can manage to grind out an answer. "I don't know, just stuff. Stuff she used to say. How she could get her flowers to grow in Midgar, or the white materia that she carried around for luck."

His head tilts to the sky, mouth twisting into a tortured grimace. Tears stream helplessly down his cheeks and onto his, despite his best efforts to keep his eyes shut tightly.

Suddenly, laughter begins to shake through his already heaving torso. It quakes eerily through him, as though he were seizing. "She calls me her bodyguard...her fuckin' bodyguard. She said she trusted me. Knew I could keep her safe."

"Cloud," Vincent says carefully. It's no use; the blonde is either too despaired or too deep into his episode to care. " _LOOK AT ME!"_ he roars.

Silence. The twisting of Cloud's features fades so suddenly he might have passed out. When he peels open his swollen, bloodshot eyes, Vincent sees green. He wonders if Cloud can even see him.

It takes a few moments, but after blinking several times, that hauntingly familiar green dissolves back into Cloud's usual mako blue. Vincent thinks it would probably be okay to reach out and touch him.

"Don't," Cloud says, shrinking away from the touch. "I don't want you catching it."

Vincent, pleased to find his friend at least lucid now, lets out an amused huff. "I doubt it's contagious. And that aside, it's very unlikely that my physiology would even allow me to contract such a disease."

"It doesn't bother you?" Cloud asks.

"No."

Vincent reaches over, placing his palm between Cloud's shoulder. It's then that Cloud realizes just how touch-starved he's been since developing the stigma. Before he even consciously realizes it, exhaustion takes over and he sinks into Vincent's body.

"Huh."

"M?"

"Nothing. You're just... warm."

At this, Vincent actually _does_ laugh. "Despite what some may believe about me, Cloud, I am a living person.”

Cloud thinks he should probably move; push himself off and just collapse by the shore until morning. Instead, he digs his fingers deeper into the soft, warm fabric of Vincent’s cloak.

“So… was I hallucinating just now or did I see you crack a smile?” he mumbles, a last-ditch effort to get Vincent to shove him away. He clearly wasn’t going to do it himself.

But Vincent does no such thing. Instead he sighs wearily, as though he’d already resigned to dealing with Cloud’s pain-in-the-ass humor indefinitely. “Shut up and rest, you ass.”

**Author's Note:**

> I have no idea how many parts this will be. At least one more.


End file.
